


The Offer and Doodles

by ballpoint



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Adoption, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/ballpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers and Rikki Barnes speak of adoption.  Steve Rogers wonders why he doodles</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Offer and Doodles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> Characters and their distinguishing trademarks thereof belong to Marvel and Disney.
> 
> No money is being made off this fanwork.

Rikki sat down, placed her hands on the table, linked her fingers in front of her. As a crash pad, it he could have done worse, living in Stark Tower, the city of New York fell away from the ways and lines, as distant as dreams.

"Rikki, can I call you Rikki?"

Rikki started to move her shoulders in a shrug, but remembering her manners, she nodded and went, "Sure."

Captain America, aka Steve Rogers was sitting at her table. No- wait- she was sitting at his table, in his HQ at Stark Tower. Totally boss, although she wished Anya were here. Or even Eli, but if the Captain wanted to see you alone, you respected his wishes, and walked into his lair. Soldier to soldier, respect earned and reciprocated.

"You must be wondering why I've invited you here."

"Not to be an Avenger," Rikki raised a hand and raked her fingers through her hair.

"No," Captain America smiled, and it was friendly. Nothing in it to make her want to grab her shield and take drastic action. "I wanted to speak to you about your living situation. I spoke to Eli -"

"Oh yeah?" Rikki raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, about you. Rikki, Tony and myself, we've been thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"You're - how old now, fourteen?"

Rikki beetled her brows, and she knew it hit bullseye when he looked a bit embarrassed. "Sixteen."

"You're still not an adult, although you've been living in a squat. Alone."

Rikki curved her fingers into fists. The next time she saw Eli, if he thought that he was doing her a favour, he had another think coming. To the moon, kapow-

"We want to adopt you, as a ward of the Avengers."

Blink.

"What?"

"Just hear me out," a gesture of his hands, so big, they could have palmed the sun, rubbed it in a pitchers mitt and fling it in the corner of the universe somewhere. "I know that you've been doing well for yourself so far, but we think that you can do much better. Here."

"Are you- but-"

"I know it sounds like we're cornering you, so take the weekend, think about it and we'll talk about it on Monday."

For the first time in her life, Rikki knew that laughter could be treacherous. How it tickled her throat, caused giggles to escape from her lips, and she clasped her hand over her mouth, until the giggles went away.

Composure came in spurts, ebbed in, calm and sure, as the nervous giggles edged out. Breathing now normal, she didn't have to think about it, and finally Rikki raised her eyes to -

"What would I call you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Uncle Captain America, Mr Rogers?"

"We'd have to think about that," Steve rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. You have forty eight hours to think about it, and whatever concerns you have, we'll meet you half way."

"Okay," Rikki said, pushing herself from the table. "My forty eight hours start now, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anyone I can talk to? Like your referees, I mean?"

Captain America folded his arms and stared at her for a minute, but Rikki didn't budge.

"If you're asking me to live with you, I'm going to need people who've lived with you before. Preferably close to my age."

"You can ask Cassie Lang. When her father was an Avenger"- at this, Steve's eyes grew momentarily sober- "she lived with us. I think-"

"I can find her." Rikki stood up, grabbed her knapsack hanging from the back of the chair. "We'll talk, and I'll see you Monday."

"See you Monday," he got up, stretched his hand across the table. No glove, just bare palms, his arm bare, the rest of him dressed in soft clothes. Rikki firmed her lips, shook it and took a step back.

"Monday," Rikki said. "I can be here for six, if that's all right? I have a detention I need to serve at school."

"I'll sure that will be all right."

"See you then," Rikki hauled her bag on her back, and stalked out of the room as fast as she could, mentally reviewing which route would be the nearest to get to the YA headquarters. She'd interview Cassie first, pay her regards to that really tony girl - Kate Bishop, yeah- and kill Eli.

Fin.

  
**Doodles**   


Habits, Steve knew, once you started to entertain them, they became a part of you, like the pigment in your hair, or the colour in your eyes. Or in his case, like a tic when one couldn't sit still. It happened in meetings - he was brass now, not a soldier on the front lines. Brass had meetings, and meetings had degrees of paper. With hard copies of meetings, he'd draw memories in the margins - the folds and shadows of the stars and stripes. The heavy, curved shape of his shield. No, it was Bucky's now.

"Director Rogers, sir," Maria Hill cleared her throat, and Steve , not missing a beat, would answer what needed answering. "Yes, we can downgrade Osborne from being enemy number one. I'm sure something bigger will catch our attention. It's summer, all bad things happen in the summer."

Maria Hill - in his quick lines, all sharp edges- her face a triangle, down to a pointed chin. Her eye lashes a heavy line.

"No need to take minutes, Steve-" that was Sharon, her hair in wavy lines, her body in compact curves. "We have someone to do that."

"I'd like to make my own notes."

"Of course, Director Rogers."

In the off time, at the mansion, while Wong directed the rest of the wait staff to make dinner, Steve made a detailed study of the mansion's new majordomo, with pen and a discarded shopping receipt - it had to be Peter, if the chocolate covered hoos hoos on offer of buy one, get one free was an indication. Super imposed over the figures, there were the fluid lines of Wong's sleeves -with enough material for it to swish and flap with his every sharp movement.

"Are you staying for dinner, Director Rogers?" Wong said at last, giving him a look from the side of his eye, before chastising the staff. "No spots on glasses, unless it's made from a cheetah."

"No," Steve crushed the receipt in his hand, and stuffed it in his pocket. "I only came to speak to Ms Hand, if she's here?"

Later on, when he's undressing for the night, Steve turns out his pockets, and smooths out his drawings from various bits of torn and other wise discarded papers. There's nothing here of art he admits. Just the distant view of New York while flying on the SHIELD helio headquarters, Wong's imperiousness, Victoria Hand's sharp eyes peering at him over heavy frames.

It's nothing, just notes and pieces of his days. He makes sure to avoid sketching things that might be a security concern. No scale drawings of rooms, no exits, no entrances.

Steve opens the top drawer of his dresser, and bites his lips at the rest of the smoothed out papers there. Carol hugging herself by the window as she's taken to do these days, looking out at the gardens, her features pensive, her brow furrowed. The date is two weeks ago; a visual diary of his days, and how they go.

"One day, I'll clear these up and throw them out." Steve says aloud, a promise to himself, before he closes the drawer again.

Fin.


End file.
